The invitation had arrived a month ago, tucked between bills and a glossy pharmacy catalog she didn't remember signing up for.
"Cedar Hill High — Class of 1985 Reunion, 40 Years Later!"
The font was too cheerful. Someone had drawn little stars around the words with a blue pen. Probably Helen Simmons. She used to dot her i's with hearts and cry over boys who didn't remember her name.
Maggie Thompson stood by the window now, holding the card like it might dissolve in her hand. Forty years. An entire lifetime of love, loss, silence, and small kindnesses. She wondered if anyone would even recognize her.
She wore a soft lilac sweater — the one her daughter said made her look "gentler." Lipstick too, for the first time in months. Cherry Blossom. The color of spring, of things that bloomed long ago and didn't come back.
The gym hadn't changed. That was the first lie of the night.
"Oh my God, you look the same!"
"You haven't aged a bit!"
Everyone was lying. Or trying to be kind. Or too drunk to know the difference.
Name tags. Streamers. A table of stale crackers and punch. Someone had set up a poster board with old photos — prom nights, football games, messy handwriting under each one.
She found the graduation class photo. Second row, third from the left.
There she was — seventeen, laughing, eyes half-closed. Caught mid-moment, mid-thought. Alive in a way she hadn't been in years.
Right beside her stood Eddie Carter.
His hand rested on someone else's shoulder, but he was smiling toward her — just barely. That smile had haunted her for four decades.
A sticky note had been placed beside his face. Written in delicate pen:
"In memory of Edward Carter, 1967–1986."
Gone a year after graduation.
Car crash. Wet road. No seatbelt. He'd been riding alone. She never went to the funeral.
She told herself then she was too busy with college applications.
Truth was — she didn't know what to say.
"Maggie Thompson," a voice said behind her.
She turned. Round face, thick glasses, cheap red wine in a plastic cup — Harry Finch. Class clown turned amateur poet. He used to write limericks about teachers and tape them to lockers.
"Didn't think you'd come," he said. "You always hated crowds."
She gave him a flat smile. "Still do. I just tolerate them better."
He laughed. "Tolerate. That's a word we didn't know back then."
They sat near the snack table. The music was too loud — someone had queued "Take On Me" for the third time. On the dance floor, nostalgia danced with arthritis.
Then, somewhere between a refill and a sigh, Harry leaned toward her.
"You ever hear the story about the graduation bell?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What story?"
"They say… if someone regrets not saying goodbye, and they whisper that wish into the bell… it grants them one day. Just one. To go back. Not to fix things, not to change the past — just to live it again. Properly."
Maggie gave a quiet scoff. "You always were dramatic."
Harry just smiled, eyes distant.
"Maybe. But stories have teeth. They wait until you start aching… then they bite."
She didn't reply.
But when she turned her eyes back to the photo — she didn't laugh either.
Later, she returned home to a house that felt a little too clean. She took off her shoes at the door, more out of habit than care, and flicked on the lamp in the living room.
The silence clung to her.
She wandered to the old bookshelf, pulled down the battered shoebox. Inside were mementos: notes in folded triangles, a dried rose, a cassette tape with EDDIE'S MIX scrawled on it. Her hand trembled as she picked it up.
She still had a cassette player. Barely worked. But it clicked.
"Is this the real life…?"
Queen's voice spilled into the room. The opening notes of Bohemian Rhapsody.
She sat down, photo in hand.
She stared at her seventeen-year-old self.
Laughing.
Eyes closed.
Eddie, beside her, forever seventeen.
"Too late… my time has come…"
The chorus faded into that soft, haunting wail.
Maggie whispered, barely audible:
"Just one day… please… let me go back."
And then — the music swelled. The world cracked.
The photo in her hand rippled, as if underwater.
The lights flickered once.
And then everything went still.